Prepare yourself to be assaulted with feelings.
The words "going home" have been spoken. Videos have been watched, apps have been downloaded, baby has been put in his car seat (and passed his test), and g-tube has been placed. The date is still not official, so it's not being said "We come this day." It'll be a surprise.
I had a panic attack today for the first time in years. I think that last one was before Blair and I were married and I called him sobbing because I didn't understand what was happening. Today I had to stop and clutch the bed here at the Ronald McDonald House, lower my head and remind myself to breathe. I willed my hands to stop shaking and prayed that Blair would come up from taking the trash soon. I don't have attacks often...I never even thought I was an anxious person. Certain things though..they get me. If you've never had a panic attack, I'm glad. I don't ever say lightly that I do. It was awful today...felling like my chest was constricting and feeling like air couldn't get into my lungs...
I wanted my Mommy. Blair came up and hugged me and said "What do you need?"
My Mommy.
I am overwhelmed. At the thought of packing up the life we've lived here for two and half months, of unpacking it at home, at feeding Dean the right way, of now having to take care of him all the time, of adding Ellie to the mix, of doctors appointments, of warnings signs, at medications. My thoughts are rolling about fifty million miles an hour and I can't make them stop.
How I feel weirdly ashamed that I will still need so much help. How I am dreading the next doctors appointment, wondering if I can handle having Ellie and Dean and terrified that Ellie won't want to leave my sight. She knows now. She's caught on that we aren't with her. Blair and I saw her last Thursday for a while. She climbed up on the couch and patted on her right and her left and expected Blair and I to sit on either side of her. She has been with so many people, passed around. I know she was loved. But it felt like a thousand knives each night we were away from her.
I can't...explain how excited and terrified I am. How these emotions can live side by side and still I can keep going. I don't want to. I'm not sure what shifted, maybe my eyes aren't focused anymore, maybe I just need to go ahead and cry. Like a lot. Admit to myself that I don't have this.
I am 25 years old and I stood in the middle of this emptying room and cried because I wanted my Mommy.
I am reminded of something someone said to me, and that I heard her say, a lot. For the past two months a certain lady's words have come to mind, "Peace, be still." I know Jesus originally said those words to the winds and the waves and the storms. But I had never thought to use them in my every day life. Like when kids are being crazy, when the dishes aren't done, when the baby is crying, when you can't breathe because everything feels too much...those are the storms that we are facing. That's what Jesus says, "Peace, be still."
Stephanie Conley used to look at me over a cup of tea, with kids running around, school work strewn across the dining room table and a mountain of dishes and she'd just say "It's a process Maddie." I'm not sure why today all I can think about are those times when she would say these things to me, but they are resounding in my head like cymbals.
Which is why I paused in cleaning up our room here. Which is why I paused from the doing and the stuff and told Blair, "I'm going to write."
I needed to process things. I needed a moment. And maybe I need a cup of tea. And some chocolate.
This story, Dean's story, ours, Ellie's, it doesn't stop with getting to go home. This is a marathon and not a sprint...long term. And scary as hell. It is big and daunting and scary and new.
It is a storm.
And here is Jesus, the memory of Mrs.Conley, telling me, "Peace. Be still."
No comments:
Post a Comment